You Are Light, Leaves, Love
by ijustwanttodestroy
Summary: What is Todoroki Shouto? He is the crown prince, the heir of his father's Nation. He is an anomaly, the weapon of his father's ambition. He is a firebender. He is a waterbender. What he is not, however, is the avatar. Todoroki Shouto is not someone — something — that is supposed to exist. [the ten times Todoroki Shouto, crown prince of the Fire Nation encounters the Avatar.]
1. BOOK ONE - LIGHT

What is Todoroki Shouto?

To answer, one needs to ponder, for Todoroki Shouto is many things.

He is the crown prince, the heir of his father's Nation. He is an anomaly, the weapon of his father's ambition. He is a firebender. He is a waterbender.

What he is not, however, is the Avatar.

He knows this. His father knows this. The Fire Nation — Endeavor's Nation — knows this. The whole world knows that Todoroki Shouto is _impossible_. To bend two elements is to defy nature.

(The rumor has it the Fire Lord Endeavor made a pact with the spirits; the rumor has it Shouto's birth costed his mother her sanity, and her heart.)

Todoroki Shouto is not someone — some _thing_ — that is supposed to exist.

(Sometimes Shouto wishes he doesn't.)

(However, he is quick to learn that to wish is a privilege he does not have.)

He is a curse. He is a miracle. He is a boy. He is a weapon. He is a rumor. He is a prove that Endeavor's Nation will, ultimately, rule above all.

Shouto's life is a paradox, and it isn't even his.

"You _will_ be the Avatar's downfall," his father tells him. His father is the brightest thing Shouto ever seen — he blinds him so. Shouto never could look at him in the eye. "You _will_ bring the Avatar's demise."

(What _is_ Todoroki Shouto?)

* * *

I

The first time Shouto encounters the Avatar, he thinks, _he isn't something I'm supposed to kill._

The boy before him is the Avatar. The boy is something Shouto is supposed to kill. He is a hero, a savior, a miracle, the successor of All Might, wielder of One for All — everything that Shouto is not.

"Who are you?" the boy asks him, eyes green and spilling, mouth quivering. The boy is afraid. _Afraid of me_ , Shouto thinks. It shouldn't surprise him, really. Everyone is afraid of Shouto, even his mother. Even the Avatar.

After all the trainings his father beat into him — _this_ is what he is supposed to face? _This_ is what he was made for? The Avatar is a boy, possibly his age, perhaps younger; skin littered in scars and freckles. He looks slight, small. Fragile. And yet the boy — _the Avatar_ , Shouto reminds himself, _not a_ boy — does not cower. His hands tremble so, yet he holds them in fists. His feet shake, yet still he stands. His eyes water, yet they hold Shouto's gaze with startling intensity.

Underneath the cold, distantly, something twists in Shouto's chest. Shouto's fire falters.

(And then Shouto thinks about the rabbit his father handed him one summer, years ago. He thinks about its small frame, its quivering heartbeat. Its brown, soft fur. He thinks about his father's voice, the coldest thing in his life: _kill it, Shouto.)_

Shouto thinks: _he isn't something I'm supposed to kill._

Shouto answers: "I am your downfall."

It should have been an easy kill. The boy — the Avatar — is seemingly only capable to dodge his attacks, to run and run and run. His bending is clumsy, awkward, all over the place; he bends like a toddler, like he isn't used to bending at all. In face of Shouto, who learned to bend before he learned to walk, killing him should be as easy as killing a rabbit.

Later, Shouto learns that underestimating the boy was a mistake.

He learns this later, when he is struck with the realization that he has been tricked a tad too late. He learns this later, when he is swimming in cold south pole water as he watches the boy flies away on a flying bison (which, the last time he checked, is supposed to be extinct) with his two aides.

He learns this later, when his father's fist sends him hurtling across the throne room.

("He outsmarted me," Shouto confesses, mouth threatening to quiver, eyes threatening to spill, and his father's hand swings.)

He learns this later, when his father's cold, cold voice tells him that he is not to return unless he brings the Avatar's head with him.

"This is what I made you _for_ ," Endeavor tells him, after bruising Shouto's ribs into blooming purple. At least nothing broke. "This is why you _exist._ "

(What his father means: if Shouto cannot do this, there is no reason for Shouto to be alive. )

Shouto answers: "yes, Father."

Endeavor lowers himself to his throne, his anger simmering down. Over the years, Shouto learns to read his father's mood through gestures. After all, Endeavor doesn't speak to Shouto as much as he beats him. He either commands or burns.

"What are you, Shouto?"

Shouto answers, just like how he was taught, over and over and over: "I am the Avatar's downfall. I will bring the Avatar's demise."

Endeavor hums, satisfied of his son's compliance, of this masterpiece he has created, this weapon he owns. Todoroki Shouto, his most wonderful work, his _magnum opus_. Endeavor orders, "get out of my sight."

Just like how he was taught, Shouto obeys.

* * *

II

Shouto is intelligent. He is efficient, effective. He is the best of the best, a skilled navigator, a reverent scholar. He mastered waterbending at 11 (he has always been better at waterbending), and firebending at 13. At the age of 16, He has already beaten his father's commander and two lieutenants — who are foolish enough to insult him — in Agni Kai, only with fire. A true prodigy.

(He never lost. Not once. Not when his father is watching from his throne.)

If it were not for his failure in executing the Avatar a month ago, he would be his father's admiral as of now. Therefore, when he finds the Avatar within the waters near the Earth Kingdom territory the next month, he ponders what took him so long.

"Fuck y-you," the airbender spits at him. Literally. Shouto sidesteps and watches her saliva drops to the ground.

"Ochako!"

Ah. There he is. Shouto recognizes the green bush of hair, the gold tan of skin.

" _Deku!"_ the airbender cries, struggles against the ice encasing her up to her neck. She is shivering, and her struggle is … well, it's obviously futile.

"Shut up," Shouto says. He tells the Avatar, "don't move or I'll burn her face off."

The Avatar stares at him in horror; even the spirited airbender seems to be afraid. They believe him. Shouto knows that threat would work; the horrid burnt mark over his left eye always does the trick. People believe you will hurt others when you have the scar to prove it. Shouto finds it funny. Shouto supposes his sense of humor is odd, but he has no one to hear his jokes anyway.

"What do you want?" the Avatar's voice, just like their encounter before, trembles. But Shouto finds that, within a month, he has changed. He doesn't look as small, or as fragile; soft, still, but Shouto can see the lines of muscle that wasn't there before. He has new scars, and his freckles has increased, it seems, in number. His hair —

 _Unnecessary details_ , Shouto chastises himself. _Kill him_.

"You," Shouto says. "I want you."

Seconds pass. And then The Avatar goes completely red with — anger? fear? Shouto cannot recognize the fumbling, steaming expression on his face. The Avatar is seemingly speechless, his mouth opening and closing several times.

(The airbender girl mutters under her breath, "what the hell," softly enough no one hears her.)

"Don't l-listen to him, Deku!"

Shouto's left hand burst into fire. He steps closer to the girl. "I told you to shut up."

The girl is afraid. The girl holds Shouto gaze — she is afraid, but Shouto can see the resolve in her eyes. Shouto recognizes that look; he saw it in the Avatar's eyes a month ago.

"Do i-it," she says, her voice trembling from the cold.

Shouto's freezes, genuinely surprised. Then, insulted. He narrows his eyes into slits. "Don't think I won't do it," he says, his voice lowering into a snarl.

"Ochako, _what_ — ?"

" _Then d-do it_!" the girl snarls back, ignoring the Avatar's panicked shouts.

Shouto's fire falters.

Do it, he tells himself. But he won't. He knows he won't. And it must be shown on his face, because the girl's expression lights into an understanding. Shouto's fire diminish completely, his left hand trembles.

"This is foolish," he says, and he ignores the way his voice breaks. He faces the Avatar. "Surrender yourself and I will leave her be."

"D-Deku, don't — "

The airbender's speech is cut off to a gasp as the ice grows, frosting over her cheeks. "Waste more time," Shouto says, "and she will die of hypothermia within minutes."

Shouto expects more fight. More hesitation, at the very least. But the Avatar answers in a heartbeat. "Take me with you," he says. There is that sensation again — of Shouto's chest twisting itself into something he doesn't understand.

 _Unnecessary. Ignore it_.

Shouto nods to his men. They seize the Avatar and restrain his hands, his legs, his mouth. He does not fight back. "Knock him out," Shouto orders. The airbender watches helplessly as one of Shouto's soldiers strike the Avatar. The Avatar's head lols back, limp like a doll's. Shouto watches as they bring him to the ship.

Shouto releases the girl. She falls to the ground, wet and trembling all over, her skin near blue. She wouldn't be able to move, or to speak, for a while.

Shouto has the Avatar. He can return home, now. He just has to kill him.

He feels very, very cold.

"I have to do it," he doesn't think she can hear him, but he says it anyway. "I _will_ do it."

True to his word, he leaves her be.

* * *

Sometimes, Shouto wonders what would happen if he _were_ the Avatar. Would his father use him still, as a living weapon? Would he be the eventual ruler of the New World, the one his father envisions? Would his father kill him?

Would his father love him?

It is pathetic, he knows. It is more pathetic even, that he never had the guts to ask.

(The last time Shouto asked something of his father was also the last time he saw his mother.)

His father loves him, of course. Shouto knows this. His father loves him like one loves riches, or fame, or power. Shouto is precious, valuable — he is gold, meld and burnt, beaten and polished into glimmering perfection. He understands this. The best of the best. He is the one to kill the Avatar, the one to break the cycle. The one to ruin nature and bring the world into a fiery oblivion. He is his father's executioner, his father's creation, an impossibility brought to life.

The Avatar is before him, chained and still. Waiting to be slaughtered.

How will he do it? Burn him? Freeze him? But, however incompetent his bending seems to be, he is _still_ the Avatar. Perhaps attempting to murder him with elemental attacks will be counterproductive.

 _Bring his head to me. You will not return unless you bring his head to me._

Shouto unsheathes his sword.

The Avatar's eyes flutter open. Dark lashes, then hazy shades of trees. He shakes his head, his curls shaking as he does — they've grown, Shouto thinks, wilder now, like spring leaves — and then he sees Shouto.

"Oh," the Avatar says. " _Oh."_

 _Do it,_ Shouto thinks. _Do it now._ Do it, and he will return home. And he will become his father's right hand. And then — then —

Then, _what_?

"Why?" his voice is tiny, shaking, small.

Shouto stares.

The Avatar stares back, nervous, and doubtlessly scared shitless — but he stares back, still. Even now, this startles Shouto, this … this bravery. This fearlessness, in spite of imminent death. The Avatar continues, voice steadying if a little, a valiant effort.

"Why do you want me dead so _badly_?"

 _Unnecessary. Ignore it._

 _Shut up,_ replies a voice at the back of Shouto's head. _Shut the fuck up._ This voice, Shouto faintly realizes, sounds more like his own and less like Endeavor's.

Shouto thinks of an answer. Before he can come up with one, though, the Avatar just _rambles._

"I mean. I _know_ why. Kind of, uh, I know the — the Fire Lord wants me dead, so he can rule the world and everything, but why. I don't think I'm much of a threat for him, anyway, considering he killed the Avatar before me, I don't think it will take much from him to do it again, right? I figured it would have something to do with his pride and dominance and everything — what I'm saying is — wait," the Avatar takes a breath. "Sorry, I'm rambling — um," and then the Avatar opens his mouth and closes it again, seemingly confused at himself for apologizing, considering Shouto is holding a very sharp sword that will possibly cut his head off the next minute.

"I don't know," Shouto says.

The Avatar looks at him, eyes round and surprised. He probably thinks Shouto can't form any coherent sentences other than death threats.

"What?"

"I don't. I," Shouto frowns, and stops.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Shouto stares at him, deadpan. What a foolish question, he thinks. Yes, he is. Of course he will.

"You are the Avatar, and I will be the one to kill you," Shouto says. Say a word too many times, and it will lose its meaning. These are the words that Shouto repeat over and over again, the mantra he chants when he rocks himself to sleep after a day of exhaustion in his father's hands. _I am your downfall. I am your downfall. I am your downfall._

The Avatar looks at him, thoughtful.

(No one ever looks at Shouto like that. Like Shouto has something worth saying, like Shouto is a person. His chest twists painfully. He ignores it.)

"That's not what I asked," the Avatar says, slowly, as if speaking to a child. He probably thinks Shouto is dense, a killing machine of the Fire Lord's. A mere brute force. Then the Avatar says, "you are _Shouto_ , are you not?"

 _What are you, Shouto?_

"I am the Avatar's downfall," Shouto says, each words wrung out of him like torn flesh. "I will bring the Avatar's demise," he can feel his temperature rapidly fluctuating, his left side warring with his right. Shouto's sword is sizzling, and his breath frosting. _Do it,_ his head screams. _Do it. Do it. Do it now._

Shouto gives in. "I will bring the Avatar's head to my father."

Seconds later, Shouto's ship overturned, water filling in in waves. Out of balance, Shouto's head hits steel wall and black dots start filling in his vision. He vaguely remembers water. Drowning. Cold. Warmth. An arm around his waist. Spring leaves. Golden skin. _Shouto. Shouto —_

When he comes to, his ship is a wreck and the Avatar is gone.

* * *

III

"Prince Shouto, please — "

"Momo."

This silences Momo quickly, but Shouto can see disapproval on her face.

"I will not hear more of this," Shouto says with finality. "We are heading to — " Shouto pauses. "Home."

"Your Highness," Momo, the brave girl, continues. "Forgive my impertinence, but I do not think — "

Shouto gives her a furious glare. "Will you go against me, Momo?"

Momo bites her lip, and then looks down. "No, my Lord."

"Do you think me incompetent? Do you think me incapable as the captain of this ship?"

Her voice is clear, honest, faithful. "No, my Lord."

"Then spare me the bullshit."

Shouto has no use for sugar coating soldiers, nor blabbering crew. If his men have something to say, then they must, truthfully.

The silence lasts a few seconds. "I am your personal guard, my Lord," Momo begins, carefully picking her words. "Your safety is what I live for. However, within the walls of the Fire Lord," Momo pauses. "I am afraid I might be unable to do my job properly."

Shouto isn't sure what to say. Shouto isn't sure why he feels — why he _feels._

"Nonsense," Shouto says, back turned against his guard. Momo is holding back tears. He will spare her the shame. "You are the best there is. Nobler than any."

"I understand, my Lord," Momo answers, and Shouto ignores the way her voice breaks. Momo has always been fond of him, ever since they were kids. Shouto wonders why she decided to throw her future away — it would be a bright future, he knows it, for Momo is of nobility, is strong and amazing and beautiful — to protect the cursed crown prince. To protect a living weapon.

"Leave," Shouto says, as gently as he can — which is not much at all. Shouto does not know gentle.

"Yes, Prince Shouto."

Shouto looks to the sea. Beyond the horizon: the Fire Nation.

* * *

Shouto is wrong. His father does not blind him; the Avatar does. The brightest thing Shouto has ever seen.

Shouto can feel it — the raw power, tumbling in rapid waves, like _light._ Shouto is strong, Shouto's father even more so, but _this_ — this kind of power is nothing mortal, nothing like violence. This kind of power is _holy._

The temple shines. The solstice breaks. Shouto sees emerald, sees stars made freckles. Spring leaves, golden in the sun. The _Avatar_ —

Shouto wonders how he could possibly kill pure light.

* * *

"You failed," Endeavor says. It is a statement, spit and fury. Shouto tries his very best not to throw up. His sight is red from blood.

"You failed _three times_. And you dare to come back. You dare to defy _me_."

Swallowing bile and blood, Shouto says, "forgive me, my Lord."

"I will burn your other eye," his father says. "And then you will be truly useless. Are you useless, Shouto?"

It is a miracle he can still speak.

"No, Father."

"Prove it. His head, or your eye."

His father won't do it. _His father won't do it_. He is his father's masterpiece, his most wonderful work, he is his father's gold, polished to perfection, beaten and burnt and beaten and burnt —

"Don't think I won't do it," Endeavor says, his voice lowering into a snarl.

 _He will_ , Shouto thinks. _I know he will._

"What are you, Shouto?"

Shouto answers. Always.

( _Do not speak. Do not fight back. This is how you survive_.)

Leaving the throne room, Shouto throws up blood.


	2. BOOK TWO - LEAVES

"We will leave now," Shouto announces, and he puts his mask on. Behind him, Momo, Denki and Mashirao follow suit, putting their own.

It is near midnight. They leave, four shadows along the castle walls. Shouto found the secret pathway out of the castle when he was seven.

"Prince," Denki says, "I'll bring the bag, you don't need to —"

Shouto sighs. Even after years of doing this, Denki still does this, everytime. "I can carry my weight just fine. You know what to call me out here, Denki."

"Right. Sorry, Pri — uh, _Shouta_."

Mashirao hits the back of Denki's head. Denki yelps. "Really, Denki? If I had a copper coin every time you did this, I'd be richer than the _Prince_."

"Please do not mention the Prince's name so carelessly," Momo says irritably. Her eyes, sharp as hawk's, survey their surroundings. "Don't you remember the last time we almost got caught? I nearly had a heart attack."

"Well, it was obviously _Denki's_ fault that time, too —"

"What! Why _me_?!"

"You insolent, _you_ were the one who electrocuted that thug —"

"Dude, he was about to _stab_ me —"

"Silence," Shouto hushes, and they obey. "Goddammit, you three."

"Sorry," they whisper in perfect unison. "Shouta."

Shouto leads the way. They have five tracks they go over to go to the city's slums, and randomize it everytime. Shouto can't do this too often, for it would raise suspicion.

Luckily, the Fire Nation does not really give a shit of what happens outside the royal city. The good part of it, anyway. Fire Nation is build on greed, and gold. The rest is forgotten.

They skirt quickly, along the city's edge, traveling in quick shadows. Less than fifteen minutes, they arrive at the city's slums.

"We will split, the usual. Momo, you go north. Denki, west. Mashirao, east. No bending."

"But what if someone tries to stab — "

"No."

The moon is high in the sky. It will be full moon in two days.

Shouto checks his surrounding. It is empty, but not exactly quiet. Shouto can hear noises, yelling, children and women crying. It's cold out here, and it smells filthy; this is where the city dumps its waste. Tents are build from ragged cloth, no doubt will do no good when the rainy season comes. Heaps of trash are used as walls. This place is home for the homeless.

Shouto goes south and begins his rounds.

His bag is filled with leftover food from the castle — the castle always has tons of leftovers — bread, fruits. Some thrown out fabric. It is not much. Shouto has never been able to do much.

He comes, door to door (not exactly _doors_ , just flaps of tents, clothing hastily thrown to become a makeshift entrance), giving away something at each house. It does not take a lot of time; he will finish in half an hour.

"Don't move."

Shouto turns. A knife is pointed at him.

It is a girl. Young, perhaps twelve. Maybe younger. Her clothing is made out of a rice bag. Her hair a messy heap, and her face is bruised. Scarred everywhere, scratches left untreated. She is looking at Shouto with fear and ferocity. The knife trembles in her grip.

This happened more often before. The people here, holding Shouto and his aides at knife point, trying for more food. Soon, they learned that Shouto is not to be triffled with, and the attempts of robbery stopped. The last time it happened, Denki electrocuted someone and nearly gave their identity away with his bending. Luckily, there were not many people. Like now. It's always empty, like a dead man land.

"D-don't move."

Shouto does not move. He waits, silent.

"Give me — give me everything you have. Or I'll kill you."

"No," Shouto answers immediately.

She hesitates — a short, fleeting moment, but Shouto sees it — and then she howls, pushing her weight to her knife, to Shouto. Shouto takes the knife from her easily, and she falls to the ground due to her own momentum. Shouto contemplates to throw the knife away, but he decides against it. She is still at the ground when he gives it to her, handle first.

The girl swallows.

"You need it more than I do," Shouto tells her.

She takes it. She does not try to stab Shouto after that.

"Where do you sleep?"

She looks at him, hard, but then she points to the south. Shouto hums. He says nothing, finishing his round. She follows him as he moves, door to door. Giving what he has. The girl is shivering in the night air. Her bones are prominent, and her belly is potruding. Malnourished. Shouto takes off his coat and offers it to her without words. She takes it in a heartbeat. Shouto does not think her shameless; he thinks her smart. Here, pride will not help you survive. It will not keep you alive, nor feed your stomach.

When they get to the corner of the street, she points to a tent. Shouto follows her.

Underneath it, there is a woman, covered in leaves, paper, rags. Shouto smells rot. Her arms are visible, and they are swollen with rashes.

"Mother," the girl says. "Mother, I've brought food."

The woman does not move. Shouto does not think she is breathing.

"She is ill," the girl explains, as she ruffles through Shouto's bag. She brings out a loaf of bread, a handful of grapes. She shifts forward to the tent, brushing her mother's hair to see her face. Just like her arms, her face too, are covered in blue green rashes, swollen like a watermelon.

The mother's eyes are open, but they are unseeing.

"Mother?" the girl asks, her voice brittle and small. The girl is smart. She knows her mother is dead.

She crumples in to herself and cries; it's ugly, it's shaking shoulders, trashing body. She does not have many tears — dehydrated, perhaps. Her screams compensate for her lack of tears.

Shouto does not speak. He puts down some fruits, some clothing. He gives what he has. And then he leaves.

The girl's sobs follow him to the night.

* * *

 _Foolish_ , a voice tells him — it sounds like his father's. It sounds like his own. _You think you can save them. You think you can be anything other than a weapon._

 _Remember what you are._

* * *

They are silent when they return. Shouto does not say anything. His aides know enough not to ask. When they arrive inside the castle's walls, Shouto turns to them. He regards them, each of them — they are his most trusted, his best warriors. They devote their lives to his.

"We will leave at dawn for the Avatar," he tells them. Always curt, the way he speaks to them. He tells them what is needed, and he tells them coldly, and they obey. "Rest for now."

They kneel. "Yes, Prince Shouto," they say, hard and fond.

* * *

IV

Shouto is close. Shouto is very close.

The Avatar's bending has improved. It is not perfect, it does not rival Shouto's, but it is strong. In only a couple of months, the Avatar's improvement is commendable. Astounding, even.

Shouto remembers the solstice. The fight in the Avatar's temple. _He is no match for you_ , a voice tells him. _You were_ made _for this_.

Shouto is close. He can win. The Avatar is intelligent, but so is Shouto, and Shouto has learned not to underestimate the boy. _I was made for this_. And yet — _and yet_ —

The ground quakes, and the Avatar slips from the impact of his own bending. He falls, and Shouto brings his arm forward. Ice slithers with it, holding the Avatar to the ground. The Avatar grits his teeth, and combusts to fire, freeing himself. The Avatar yells in pain.

His hands are burnt from his own fire. _Amateur mistake_ , Shouto thinks, eyeing the Avatar. Despite his improvement in other bendings, the Avatar's firebending is quite shit.

" _Why_?" the Avatar snarls, and he sends wind to Shouto's way. Shouto dodges, but barely — a stray debris grazes his cheek sharply. Shouto does not bother to check for blood. "Why are you doing this?"

 _Why do you want to kill me so_ badly?

Shouto glares. He will not let the Avatar distract him, not again. "I will not speak to a dead man," Shouto combusts into flames.

The Avatar counters with ice. Smoke rises to the sky.

"You will answer me," the Avatar insists, and he roars as he brings the earth to life.

They are not equal. Not in strength. Shouto is stronger, they both know this, and yet still — the Avatar does not fall back. _Won't_ fall back.

"You are stronger than me," the Avatar says. "You can _end this fight_!"

The Avatar keeps talking. Goading him, he knows. Trying to trigger Shouto, watching his responses. Waiting until Shouto loses composure, for him to slip, and make a mistake. Shouto clenches his jaw.

"Are you holding back?"

Deep in the pit of his chest, anger swells. _Do not fall for it,_ Shouto grits his teeth. _Do not speak to him._

The truth is: Shouto is not ice cold. He knows that it is what the Fire Nation calls him; the _cold prince_. The name is fueled by fear, but as the prince of the Fire Nation, it is also a whispered insult. A cruel joke.

It means: Shouto does not have a heart. It means: Shouto _does not belong_ there.

But they are wrong. Shouto's anger flares quickly, if one knows where to prod. What to _say_. Shouto's temper is not unlike an oil slicked wick.

(Not unlike his father's.)

Shouto exhales; steam vapors to the air. He feels his skin sizzling, he feels his skin going numb from the cold. _Do not speak to him. Do not._

"Is that _it_?" the Avatar snaps, And he is angry, Shouto sees it for the first time, how fury looks on the Avatar's face. His cheeks are red with wrath, his freckles stark against his blush. His eyes bright, as always. " _Look at you_. You could've finished this fight a long time ago. You could've _even killed me_ the first time we — the first time we _met_ ," the Avatar finishes with a seethe. "I'm tired of you showing up —"

" _Shut up_."

"—trying to kill me all the time, and doing a half-assed job at it. Do you even _want_ to kill me?"

Shouto's eyes scrunches from glaring so hard, his teeth bared in a snarl. The Avatar is spewing fucking nonsense. What does _he_ know? Why won't he just — _die_?

 _Kill him. Do it, Shouto._

"You don't know _anything_ ," Shouto growls, and he claws into the ground. The ground turns to ice with his beckoning, towering to the sky in sharp, jagged chrystals. Silence.

 _He's dead_ , a small voice in Shouto's head says, small and empty. And then —

"I was right, wasn't I?"

There is ringing in Shouto's head. It sounds like a whistling kettle. Like a bomb, whirring, waiting to detonate.

The Avatar rises, his right arm bloody and wrecked in his hold, but he stands tall, eyes fixed on Shouto. Burning. "You aren't even _trying_ hard enough to kill me."

Shouto's left side is in flames. " _My Father_ —"

"I know the Fire Lord wants me dead!" the Avatar's eyes are brighter than fire. Radiant. His chest rises and falls rapidly. "I _know_ that. But do _you_?"

Shouto thinks of the rabbit. Thinks of whistling kettle. Thinks of moonlight. Thinks of, _I will burn your other eye._ Thinks _, I was made for this._

The Avatar says, "you are not your father, are you?"

Shouto — Shouto's flames _died._

Shouto can't move _._ His chest feels like it's closing in itself, his heartbeat is _loud,_ pulsating in his ears. He feels unbearably hot. He feels unbearably cold. He is — Shouto is — _I am —_

What _is_ he?

" _Deku_!"

The Avatar's flying bison hovers above them. The Avatar's aides have increased in number, it seems.

"What the fuck, Deku, come the fuck _up_ here!"

"Is that — is that the _fire prince?"_

 _He's running away,_ a voice tells him. _Stop him, you fucking mongrel. I raised you myself, you useless, ungrateful thing. Did you forget, already? Did you forget what you_ are —

Shouto can't. He watches, teeth biting into his lips, his breathing labored as they come in steams, as the Avatar climbed onto his bison and fled. Shouto can't, as he falls into himself, his chest roaring, skin _breaking_. He is losing control, he is burning, he is freezing. It takes him everything not to scream. It takes him everything not to burn, burn, _burn_. He can't. Shouto is an open wound.

* * *

When Shouto opens his eyes, the world is a blur. A collection of sensations. Shouto is burning. Shouto is freezing. His vision is null, and he feels blind all over again. He hears whistling kettle. He can't breathe. His body feels — broken. Shaking, shuddering. He feels like a broken glass. And the world is just … colors. Dull voices. Hazy, and wet, and hot.

A face comes to view — Momo? Mashirao?

"— nce Shouto —"

"— avatar — _deavor_ —"

"— high fever —"

Someone is speaking. A lot of people are speaking. He can't hear them; their voices are loud, and yet so far away, as if he is underwater. And it's there, at the back of his mind — the whistling kettle.

Gods, he can't _breathe._

 _What's happening to me_ , he wants to say, but he barely manages a groan.

Something touches his forehead. It feels cold. Soothing. It feels wonderful. It feels like something he had known, once — a long, long time ago. Something he had forgotten. Something Shouto had lost.

Shouto thinks, _mother._

* * *

"Shouto," Endeavor says. "My _son_."

"Father," sweat pools on his brows. His hands, Shouto finds, are trembling, barely holding his body in his prostrate. "Forgive me."

"You were _lucky_ to be born."

"Forgive me," Shouto repeats. His voice but a croak. A pitiful whisper, a beg.

"You are my masterpiece. My son," his father says. "Are you not?"

Shouto barely holds his sobs. He will not cry. He will not cry, not in front of his aides. Not in front of his father.

His father blazes. His father is firelight.

" _Answer me_."

" _Yes_ ," Shouto's voice cracks. "Yes, Father."

Endeavor rises from his throne. Each step he takes towards him reverberates in Shouto's head. Shouto feels nauseous. His throat feels like acid. Every nerves in his body tells him: _run. Please, run, oh god —_

But he can't. He never could.

 _Do not speak. Do not fight back. This is how you survive._

His father is inescapable.

"Raise your head, Shouto."

Shouto obeys. He will not cry.

The hit comes. Shouto knew it was coming, but when the slap lashes and the hot white pain sears across his cheek, it still hurts. Everytime.

The sick thing is, it's grounding. It doesn't feel good, it's everything that Shouto fears — but there is a nasty part in Shouto, a part that he is ashamed of. A part that feels _relieved._ The pain grounds him, the pain reminds him of — of what he is. Every hit he takes from his father, every burnt marks he bear, they remind him, over and over again. Of his life. His home.

 _This_ is home. _This_ is all Shouto has ever known.

Shouto's head is buzzing. A whimper comes loose from his lips. His head has turned sideway from the force of the slap, so he tilts them back to face his father. His father hates it when Shouto averts his eyes like a coward. When he hits Shouto, he wants to make sure Shouto is looking at him in the eye. _Face your fear_ , his father told him. _Look at it in the eye._

Endeavor's eyes are like glacier. Hollow. Ice.

"I love you, Shouto," his father says, his voice completely and utterly empty. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Shouto answers.

His father raises his hand. Flame blazes over it, blue, like his eyes. Like Shouto's left eye.

"I do this," his father tells him. " _Because I love you_. Do you understand?"

He will not cry — and yet, the tears come.

"Yes, Father," Shouto says.

"I will burn your other eye," Endeavor says.

Tears trickle down his cheek, to his chin. "Yes, Father."

Shouto feels the heat. Shouto hears the _screaming_.

But the fire never touches him.

" _Momo_?" Shouto calls, breathless.

Momo is in front of him, burning. Crying. She stood in his father's fire, Shouto realizes with a start. She stood in the way of his father's fire, she —

 _She protected me_ , Shouto thinks.

"Momo," Shouto says, again, before the shock wears off, the fear takes in and he puts out the fire with his ice, with trembling hands. "Momo — _Momo_."

She is crying, shaking in Shouto's embrace, gasping for breath. The fire has gotten her back; her armors are completely burnt off, revealing the ugly, red gash on her skin. Shouto's hands are shaking so hard, his tremor is visible, his hold on Momo slipping off as he calls to his waterbending. His ice comes, glazing over the red, red, red skin as Momo howls in pain.

"Insolent."

Shouto raises his head, meets his father's eyes fearfully. They seem — _amused_. "At least you finally know how to use your subordinates properly," Endeavor sneers. "You were always too soft on them."

"Don't punish her," Shouto chokes. "Please. I'll do anything. _I'll do anything — please —_ "

"You are mine," his father says. " _Of course_ you will."

 _You think you can save them_?

His father's eyes are blinding. Shouto is an open wound, at his father's feet. A prince who cannot protect his own aides. Shouto is —

 _You think you can be anything other than a weapon?_

"Remember what you are," his father says.

* * *

Shouto waits until Momo has fallen asleep. And then he waits some more.

"It will leave a scar," the healer had murmured. But Momo could not hear her; she was out of it, driven out of her mind by the pain. Momo is a strong fighter, stubborn too, but Endeavor's fire is terror. Shouto should know.

His father expects him to marry her. Momo is highborn, and she is a skilled warrior — the whole nation, perhaps, expects them to marry; they take Momo's loyalty of him as something of a romantic nature. But Shouto knows it is not the case. Momo loves him, that much is true. Momo, just like Denki and Mashirao, loves him in a hard way. Like a soldier. Momo does not desire him as a lover — like the rest of Shouto's men, she desires him as a ruler. Their adoration to him is noble.

(They see something in Shouto, something no one sees in the Fire Lord. But Shouto does not know this yet. Shouto cannot see it, for he has never seen it in anyone.)

Shouto wants to break then and there, because he — he does not deserve this. He does not deserve these brave soldiers under him. He does not deserve these people to fight for his life. He does not deserve to kill the Avatar, who looks at death in the eye, fearless. He does not deserve it; not him, not Shouto, who has been a coward his whole life.

"Prince Shouto."

Mashirao. "Rise," Shouto says, and he sounds pathetic, even to himself. "You need not kneel, Mashirao. Not now."

"I will, still, my Lord," Mashirao says. It might sound insubordinate to any other royalties, but Shouto has made it very clear that his soldiers will tell him honesty, and only honestly. "You are the only one I kneel for."

Shouto closes his eyes, and wills himself not to break. "What is it?"

"You should rest, my Lord," Mashirao says, something near soft, as softly a soldier can afford. "You've been here for hours. I will take the watch for Lady Yaoyorozu."

Shouto does not move. He knows he is being irrational. _Weak_ , he thinks to himself in disgust. _You are showing weakness. Frail. Emotional._

 _Shut up._

Not here. He can't break, yet. Not in front of his soldiers. Never in front of his soldiers.

Shouto stands up.

"There is no need," Shouto makes a leave to the door. "She is safe, here."

 _Within the walls of the Fire Lord,_ Momo had said. _I am afraid I might be unable to do my job properly_.

How ironic — how pitiful, that the soldier is braver than her lord. Braver than he had ever been.

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

V

The room is devoid of anything but the Avatar, feet and arms chained to poles. He is looking at Shouto, wary.

"Who are you?"

 _What are you, Shouto?_

Shouto does not answer. He brandishes his swords, raising them overhead. The Avatar flinches, shaking —

Shouto cuts the chains with a swing of his sword.

Shouto jerks his shoulder, his mask staring at the Avatar in its frozen, blue painted glare. _Come._

The Avatar hesitates — and then, he walks behind Shouto, obedient. Shouto walks silently between the fallen guards. The Avatar follows him. At least the Avatar has the mind not to speak, waiting for Shouto's instructions in silence.

Chattering and taps echo in the hallway. Soldiers. Shouto freezes. Four people. No, six.

"Six people," the Avatar whispers to warn him, needlessly. Shouto appreciates it, though. Shouto nods, kicks open an airway on the ceiling near them and crawls in. The Avatar follows.

They hear chaos as the soldiers find their fallen comrades, Shouto's handiworks.

* * *

 _They captured the Avatar_ , Mashirao had told him.

 _Where is he?_

 _Pohuai Stronghold._

 _What will you do, my Lord?_ Denki had asked _._

* * *

Pohuai Stronghold is one of the four Fire Nation's fortress in the west of the Earth Kingdom. Shouto memorized their rooms and sewer pathways when he was eleven, including the map of the fortress' ventilation pathways. Shouto keeps his path in the airway with ease. The Avatar is following behind.

* * *

 _I will do what I must,_ Shouto had answered.

* * *

Soon, they are out in a balcony. The castle is in panic, horns blown and soldiers running. The Avatar has escaped.

It is not easy work to smuggle the Avatar. Shouto finds him too eyecatching, what with his green curls (Shouto knows he doesn't really have the right to say that, though, considering his own appearance), and brown skin. Shouto had a plan of having the Avatar wears a soldier uniform, but they simply have no time. There is no choice but to make their escape with violence.

The Avatar seems to understand, brows pinching, eyes calculating as he looks out the balcony to the crowd below. "We have to fight our way out," the Avatar says.

Shouto gestures to the Avatar to run. The Avatar, again, understands. For once, Shouto is glad for the Avatar's sharp wit.

"Are you saying _you_ will distract them?"

Shouto nods.

"No offense," the Avatar says weakly, "but I think _I_ would be a better distra — _wait_!"

Without hesitation, Shouto jumps off the balcony.

He does not use bending — it will give his identity away. Rolling onto the ground, Shouto wields his swords. He sees the Avatar running to the gate, by the rooftops, agile and light. He seems to be floating in the air.

" _Blue spirit_!" someone says, and all eyes are on him. " _Intruder_!" another says, and Shouto fights.

"Close the gates!"

Shouto is awfully skilled with swords (his father made sure of that), but without his bending, fighting against dozens prove to be tricky.

 _You have to get away,_ Shouto tells himself. Someone manages to get a hit on his shoulder — it burns with pain, but Shouto does not scream; he has had practice with that. _If he finds out what you've done —_

 _I will burn your other eye. Then you will be truly useless._

Shouto takes a hit to the torso. He rolls away, on the defense. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck —_ the soldiers are closing in. He sees men, dozens of them, coming. Reinforcements. Shouto glances at the wall. Can he scale them?

" _Duck!"_

Shouto ducks. A strong gust of wind flies overhead, sending the soldiers hurling. The Avatar stands in front of Shouto, arms raised, as if protecting him. Shouto is dumbfounded by the scene. He had come back, to save Shouto.

He takes it back. The Avatar is _stupid._ Through his mask, Shouto glares at the Avatar's back.

"Take my hand," the Avatar tells him, holding his hand out.

Shouto stares.

" _Hurry!"_

Shouto takes it. The Avatar yanks, and then — and then he is on the Avatar's back, as the Avatar scales the wall and _flies._ Shouto is _flying._

The world is a blur, night sky, lights, wind. Stars. Shouto hair flies around him, and he hears the shoutings, the horns, as they grew further and further away. Shouto can only focus on his hands, holding onto the Avatar's back. The Avatar underneath him, warm and sturdy.

By some goddamn miracle, they are out. They've escaped.

Shouto thinks: _this is impossible._ Shouto thinks: _well, he_ is _the Avatar._

Something hit Shouto's head, and Shouto, he — he can't think. The world disappears. Someone has shut off the lights.

* * *

Shouto dreams of whistling kettle. He dreams of his mother. Shouto tells her, _I'm sorry._

(Shouto can't, for the life of him, remember his mother's face without wanting to vomit. In his dreams, though, she looks beautiful. Her hair is moonlight. Her voice, summer rain.)

She tells him, _I'm sorry, too._ The kettle whistles.

Shouto's world turns into hot, blistering darkness, and it hurts. It burns. It _burns,_ and it hurts, and he can't _breathe_ , and why can't he _see_? Why can't he see _anything_?

 _Mom,_ Shouto says, _why can't I see — ?_ He can't see her mother's face. What does she look like? He can't remember.

 _Shouto,_ his mother sobs, _Shouto —_

" _Shouto_! Prince Shouto!"

Shouto's eyes open, and he gasps for air.

The sky is dark, littered with stars. He can breathe. Shouto's lungs burn, as if he had run miles. Above him, the Avatar stares at him, face pale and anxious. When he sees Shouto is conscious, his face significantly releases, giving away tension. He looks relieved.

"Get away," Shouto says, his voice hoarse, and it lacks bite. He sounds pathetic, defenseless.

The Avatar moves away. Shouto watches as the Avatar walks hurriedly behind and sits on the trunk of a tree, right across of him. A good three meters apart. Shouto curses, and tries to calm his breathing.

The air is cold. How long has he been out?

Shouto touches his head. Something had hit him. His hand comes away clean, no blood.

"You were hit by an arrow," the Avatar informs him, ever the helpful. "It hit your mask, though, so I think you are only mildly concussed."

His mask.

Shouto is not wearing his mask.

The Avatar squirms, his eyes shifting to the ground. Shouto follows his gaze. There, the mask lays, broken. It's blue paint glint under the stars. The Avatar had called him by his name.

"Fuck," Shouto says, and lays back to the ground. It's uncomfortable, and the pebbles are sharp pinpricks under him, but fuck it. He is _fucked_.

"No one saw you. They don't — they don't know who you are," the Avatar says, his voice assuring, yet unsure of itself.

 _No one except me_.

The words are unsaid, but they both hear it. Shouto takes a deep breath.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long. We just — um. We just got here. I was about to, you know," the Avatar gestures at his shoulder.

So that's why Shouto has been feeling fucked. He inspects his shoulder carefully. It's dislocated. An arrow jut out of his thigh — when did _that_ happen? — and Shouto curses again. It's frozen by the punctured skin ("I froze it to stop the bleeding," the Avatar says in a small voice, as if afraid Shouto will lash at him for _stopping_ his _bleeding_ ), but it's not deep, and it missed any vital spots. Pure luck. Shouto sighs.

Well, he did know this was a stupid, batshit idea.

(And he did it. He really fucking did it. Shouto shoves the electric excitement, the absolute _fear_ down into his guts.)

"Why did you … why did you do it?"

Shouto looks at him. The Avatar looks back. He looks older, somehow. Jaw stronger, eyes vivid.

Shouto's stare hardens. "I will be the one to kill the Avatar," Shouto tells him. "I will be the one to bring the Avatar's head to my father. Not them."

It is true. It is why he does it. It is true, and yet, Shouto can't shake the lead weighing down his chest, the ringing in his ears.

The Avatar does not stop looking. Shouto cannot bear it — cannot bear being looked like — like _someone_ rather than _something_. Shouto looks away.

"Is that why you save me? So you can kill me yourself?"

Shouto sighs again, this time irritably, holding a wince as he checks his shoulder. "I am the Avatar's downfall," he simply says, and he flinches at how sick he sounds. Sick of the words, sick of himself.

"I have a name, you know," the Avatar says, after several seconds of silence. Shouto sees the line of his mouth quirking into a tiny, wobbly smile.

(Shouto refuses to look at him. Shouto pretends his dislocated shoulder is the most interesting thing he has ever seen.)

"It gets kind of tiring getting called the Avatar all the time," the Avatar continues, unabashed by Shouto's unresponsive nature. "I'm not _just_ the Avatar, I mean. I'm me, too."

And something about that — something about that tugs at Shouto's chest.

Shouto thinks he can understand.

 _Unncecessary._

Shouto pretends he does not hear him. Shouto lifts his left arm and rotates his hand behind his head slowly.

"Wait," the Avatar makes a movement as if he is going to stand. "What are you — ?"

Shouto reaches for his right shoulder, and his dislocated shoulder pops back into place. Shouto grunts. The Avatar flinches.

Shouto sighs (again), and he hates how tired it is. How worn out ( _do not show weakness_ , his father told him, and Shouto tries to ignore that fucking voice). He touches his left shoulder with his right hand, and a thin layer of ice frosts over it in swirling patterns, giving his pain reprieve. Shouto closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of cold relief.

The Avatar's gaze is heavy on him, but he refuses to spare him a glance. He is determined to pretend that the Avatar is not there. He is determined to pretend that he did not just save the Avatar's life, that killing the Avatar — at least for this moment — is something he doesn't want to do.

The Avatar keeps staring though, and he is opening his mouth and closing it several times, worrying his lips. After a while, it gets annoying (Shouto _might be_ glancing at him discreetly).

"Say it," Shouto grunts. So much for pretending. "Whatever it is you want to say. Stop staring at me."

"Oh. I'm sorry," the Avatar mumbles, sounding embarrassed, dropping his gaze. But then, he says, "it's pretty," and his voice reminds Shouto of Momo. Clear, sincere.

"What?" the question is out before he can help it. Shouto glares at the ground.

The Avatar seems surprised that he is responding at all, like a normal person, probably. It takes him a while to reciprocate. "Your, um. Your bending. It's pretty."

Shouto glares harder at the ground. And then he laughs.

It's short, it's hoarse, and it might not be as bitter as Shouto might think, but it's there.

(He can't help it. He's got an odd sense of humor.)

"If my father hears the Avatar call my bending pretty," Shouto says, "he will strangle me."

And then Shouto relapses back to brooding silence, goes to fix his wounds. To his surprise, though, the Avatar is watching him like — like _what_ , Shouto does not want to think about. Shouto does not like to treat himself in front of others — does not enjoy looking bare and wounded. But he is too tired to find another place to seek privacy. He is going to kill the Avatar after this, anyway.

(Shouto pretends that he is.)

Shouto looks at the arrow dug into his thigh. It's not deep — which is, again, luck — so he figures it will do fine. He sighs for the umpteenth time, and bites down to his fabric of his right sleeve. Shouto melts the ice away and takes the arrow out in one swift moment. "Fuck," Shouto curses again.

"Let me help you."

Shouto tenses — and he feels cold, suddenly,and not from his ice. "Don't be ridiculous," he snaps to the Avatar, his voice ice, eyes fire. _You dare to pity me? You dare to think me weak? I'll kill you right here and now._

But the Avatar does not budge. He looks to Shouto's eyes. They are ablaze. Determine.

For the first time since he freed him, Shouto truly looks at the Avatar. He looks — well, exhausted, but none the worse for wear, only light grazes here and there.

 _You protected him_ , a voice tells him in his head, accusing, acid. But another voice, _another voice,_ tells him this: _you protected him. A_ nd it sounds awed. It sounds — content, astonished. Astonished that he can _protect_ , for once, and not _hurt._ Astonished that Shouto is something other than a thing that inflicts pain.

Shouto glares harder. The Avatar, still, does not budge.

"Let me help you," the Avatar repeats, stubborn. "I can — I can help. If you let me," he adds, "please. You've helped me. Let's make it even."

 _No,_ Shouto says in his head. _No, fuck off._ The words are on the tip of his tongue, yet he does not give voice to them.

"Let me do it, and we'll pretend none of this ever happenned," the Avatar tells him again, and Shouto _hates_ how smart that persuasion is. The Avatar seems to know this, as he looks near content at whatever change is apparent on Shouto's face.

"Do anything funny and I'll kill you," Shouto says as a permission, and the Avatar _beams._

"Thank you," he says, as if helping Shouto is something to be thankful of.

The Avatar is stupid.

The Avatar moves forward, slow, as if encountering a scared animal. Shouto scowls. He kneels in front of Shouto, and Shouto blanches at their close proximity. Shouto blanches at how — how his freckles are scattered accross his nose, seemingly in millions. _Stars made._

 _Unnecessary details. Kill him._

Shouto glares to the ground again.

"May — May I?" the Avatar hands hover above his wound. Shouto shivers, unprepared by the inevitability of touch.

"Just do it," grits Shouto.

"Okay," the Avatar says, softly, and touches the ground. The Avatar closes his eyes, and Shouto can't help but wonder at how _calm_ he looks, how transient. How _open._ As if Shouto is not going to slit his neck at any given moment.

"Let me borrow from you," the Avatar whispers, and Shouto feels the earth shuddering under him, feels the earth letting out a sigh. Water appears from the ground, and trickles to his hands, defying gravity. The Avatar smiles, honest and grateful. "Thank you."

He lifts his hands in a cup, water glowing inside them. Shouto watches he bring them over to his wound, watches how the water shimmers on his skin. It feels soothing, and Shouto closes his eyes, relishing in the sensation.

Then it's gone — and so is the pain.

Shouto looks at the Avatar. Stars made, a miracle brought to life. "You can heal," he says, wonder in his voice, more a statement than a question.

"Ah — _yeah_ , I, uh," the Avatar ducks his head, embarrassed, his curls bouncing lightly as he does so.

Of course, Shouto thinks. It makes sense. Someone so bright — so _good_. Of course he heals. Of course he has this gift of — of tenderness.

 _This is what I'm supposed to kill_ , Shouto realizes. _I am his downfall._ And suddenly the words no longer feel so empty, anymore, no longer feel as hollow. Suddenly they are heavy, and cold, like everything in Shouto's life. Suddenly they are choking his lungs.

"Your face," the Avatar says, worry in his voice, snapping Shouto out of his thoughts. The Avatar reaches for Shouto's face — with a start, Shouto realizes he is referring to the nasty, blooming bruise on his left cheek. His father's handimade. "it's —"

" _Don't touch me_ ," Shouto growls, and the Avatar pulls his hand back. He looks surprised, afraid. Shouto hates it. Shouto hates how he looks.

Shouto stands. Startled, the Avatar yelps and falls to his butt.

Shouto takes his broken mask and sword. He permits himself a last glance at the Avatar. The Avatar is confused, lost — as if disappointed that Shouto is leaving.

 _Ridiculous._

"This never happened," Shouto says coldly. And then Shouto leaves, disappears into the night, and he runs, runs, runs, runs.

His father will strangle him. Shouto laughs in death's face.

* * *

"The Avatar escaped," Endeavor repeats. The room's temperature is rising rapidly, and yet Shouto feels very, very cold.

The soldier is shaking, cowering. "Yes, my Lord."

"Aided by a _single intruder_."

The floor made a pitiful sound when the soldier grovels even deeper, scraping his head against it. "Yes, my Lord."

The room flashes red. The soldier screams, clawing at himself, on fire. The guards come without cue, dragging the lit soldier out of the throne room. The door closes, and all is but still.

Endeavor does not usually lash out childishly — he is cruel, but prideful. He does not lash out his fire, his power, on lowly foot soldiers. But Endeavor is not a patient man. The council know this — if they don't, they would not be in one piece for so long — and so they wait in silence, complying to their emperor's current nasty mood.

"I was _so close_ ," Endeavor breathes fire. "So close to annihilate the _fucking_ Avatar."

The heat is unbearable. Shouto stares ahead, face carefully blank. He does not allow himself to move a muscle.

"It is you, isn't it, Shouto?"

Shouto's heart stops.

"It really is you, after all. You will be the one to kill him, in the end," his father says, and Shouto nearly throws up right there. "It is _your fate_. Not anyone else's. "

"Yes, Father," he says blankly.

"What will we do?" one of the generals speak up.

"Will we change plans?"

"Now that the Avatar is free —"

"He will surely aide the Northern Tribe — "

"I will not change plans," Endeavor says. The table turns silent once more.

"And we have the upper hand, don't we?" another general chimes. "Our plan is _massacre_."

"Yes," Endeavor smiles, feral. "We will kill the moon spirit."

This time, the table errupts in words.

"With the moon spirit gone, the waterbenders will lose their bending."

"They will hold no chance against us."

"A genocide."

"They will be _destroyed_."

"Forgive my impudence, my Lord," a general speaks, a brave soul. "But I do not think it is wise to go against the Avatar _and_ to triffle with the spirits."

Shouto closes his eyes.

"Do you fear the Avatar, so, Takahito?" his father says.

"My Lord," the general answers weakly, "I — "

"Do you fear the spirits," his father sneers, "or do you fear _me_?"

This is a cruel question. Admitting that one fears Endeavor, that one fears _another man,_ is the same as dishonoring one's self. However, to say that one does _not_ fear Endeavor is to insult the Fire Lord. Takahito knows this. Poor man's jaw clenches, eyes wild.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Takahito finally says, "I serve you only. Not the Avatar, not the spirits. Not anyone."

Good answer. Shouto lets out a slow breath.

"The Avatar is _a boy_ ," Endeavor continues, as if Takahito never spoke. "Any man fearing a mere child, and such things as _spirits,_ does not deserve to call himself a _firebender,_ much less a fucking general."

The table bristles. Some aroused by the arrogance, empowered. But some insulted, some ashamed — yet they dare not show it.

Endeavor rules from fear.

"The spirits are killable. They are not _immortal._ We are no less from them, no, not _us_. Not the Fire Nation," Endeavor's eyes gleam in the firelight, like a mad man, like a king. "We are _gods_. Even the spirits have no chance against _gods_. We will rule. We will burn the _moon._ "

Endeavor rules from mortal pride, from the lust of violence.

The men, drunk from pride, whispers agreement. Eyes blinded. They are gods, they think. They can do _anything_. They can burn _anything._ They can burn the moon, if they wish to.

Fire is consumption. Fire is rebirth, fire is gold and fire is power.

Here, Endeavor is god.

"Shouto," Endeavor says. "You will go to the Spirit Oasis, and you will kill the moon spirit. Do you understand?"

Shouto thinks of his mother.

She has moonlight hair. She shines, in his dreams, like the moon.

(Shouto can't remember her face. He can't. Not without breaking.)

 _The Fire Lord married the princess of the Northern Tribe._

 _She is blessed_ , he heard the servants gossip, the soldiers whisper. Talks behind closed doors. _The Queen is blessed by the moon._

 _After all, it is why the Fire Lord married her. A royal marriage._

 _He wanted the moon's power._ _He wanted the moon spirit's blood in his children._

 _She is beautiful_. _Shame that she went mad._

 _Will she ever return?_

Shouto does not miss a beat. "Yes, Father."

Endeavor smiles. It is teeth. Charcoal. "You will be the prince who made the moon _bleed_."

* * *

"The fleet will leave tomorrow, and you will not come with me."

His aides bristle. They stare at him, hard, but none make a sound.

"And if — if my name is tarnished," Shouto says. "You will leave. You will not make yourself in danger. You _will not_ defend my name."

They gaze harden, jaws clench. But still, they keep silent.

"Speak your mind," Shouto commands.

Denki speaks with no hesitation, his voice crystal clear, "we will wait for you, my Lord," he kneels. And together, they all kneel before him, proud, unmoving. Warriors. Something tugs in Shouto's chest, something _burns._

"Rise," Shouto commands. They obey.

"I will return to you _as the Fire Lord_ ," Shouto says. "This is an oath I have taken. Will you wait for me?"

"Yes, my Lord," they answer. Their voices hard, and fond.

* * *

VI

The Spirit Oasis is beautiful.

The lone waterbender defending it has put up a commendable fight, courageous even surrounded by Fire Nation's soldiers. Even in face of the Fire Lord himself. But against Shouto, her bravery is nothing.

Shouto breathes. The Spirit Oasis is spring, truly an oasis amidst the cold walls of the Northern Tribe. In the pond, two fishes circle in an enthralling, rhythmic dance. The spirits. Shouto walks.

The grass is soft lush underneath his feet. The water is warm.

"Do it, Shouto."

The moon spirit quivers in his hands.

"Kill it _,_ " Endeavor says, cold as ever.

 _I am the Avatar's downfall. I am your weapon. I am your creation._

And yet.

"I can't," Shouto whispers. " _I can't._ "

Shouto's world is still, as if it's holding its breath.

"Todoroki Shouto," his father sounds like boiling water. Like whistling kettle. Like a promise of years and years of burnt marks, of open wound. "Will you go against _me_?"

("No," the waterbender whimpers, weak, unable to do anything but watch as she is held by his father's soldiers. " _Please_.")

Just like how he was taught, Shouto obeys.

The moon spirit writhes in the fire — _Shouto's_ fire — and dies. The moon becomes red. Shouto's world becomes red.

There is that ringing again in his ears — Shouto feels —

Shouto feels a rough, large hand on his shoulder. It is his father's. He has memorized his father's hands long, long ago. The curves of it, the harshness of it. The heat of it. His father tells him, "well done. You will be celebrated, my son. _Moonslayer_."

The waterbender sobs.

* * *

Moments pass. The clouds shift, the moon is hanging, a corpse in the sky. His father has left, long gone — off to lead his army, off to destroy the northern water tribe, off to celebrate their victory — and yet, Shouto cannot move. He has done something very, very terrible. Shouto knows this. He has just killed something _holy_. Touched something no human must. He has propelled a massacre, defile nature.

 _Look at you. You weapon. You open wound. You dared to think you can save them —_

 _I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

— _you dared to think you are not your father._

"Tsuyu!" the Avatar. He stumbles into the garden, his voice full of horror. " _What happened_?"

Shouto does not bother to look, to move. His fingers are limp around the moon spirit's form.

"The moon spirit is gone," the waterbender answers. "It's — it's over."

 _It's over._ It truly is over. His father has won. Shouto has won.

"No, it is not," the Avatar says, and his voice is desperate, shaking. Shouto hates it. "It is not. There _must_ be a way."

"Prince Shouto." the waterbender says, and Shouto nearly does not notice as she kneels in front of him. Her hand is touching the moon spirit, dead in Shouto's palms. Her face is solemn, devastated, but not unkind. "You carry the blessing of the moon spirit, from your mother's blood. You carry the moon's life force in you."

The moon spirit whom he just killed. _Burnt to death. You weapon._

"Yes," Shouto says, and even to himself he sounds void, like he isn't a person. He sounds hollow, lost. "I do."

 _I was a stillborn, Shouto,_ his mother had said. A long, long time ago. _I was given life, by the moon._

 _The moon lives within you, too._

The waterbender looks at him, and she looks — sad, very sad, and yet she looks as if she still has hope. Shouto wonders how it would feel like, to have hope. "You only have half of it, but it might just do. It might — it might give us a chance."

Shouto stares at her, and then he understands.

"You regret it, don't you?" she insists, but not forcefully. "You did not wish to kill it."

She is right, immensely, but Shouto does not reply. Shouto looks to the creature in his hands, and it seems to shift into something else. A rabbit. A moon spirit. The Avatar.

Shouto is a murderer.

"It is your choice, Prince Shouto," the waterbender lowers herself to the ground, and bow. Shouto watches her tears fall into the grass, glimmering red under the bloodied moon. Shouto's chest wrenches. "However. I beg of you. _Please_."

Shouto puts the dead moon spirit into the water. It floats to the surface, lifeless. He stands, and takes a trembling step towards the pond —

Something yanks him back. Too out of it to react, Shouto can only look at whoever it is in surprise.

It is the Avatar. His hold is tight on Shouto's wrist, and the look on his eyes is of horror and — something. Something hard, and pained. "Wait," the Avatar says, out of gritted teeth. His eyes blown wide, conflicted. "If you do this, you will _die_."

If he does this, he will die. Shouto knows that.

Shouto has fear. Shouto fears his father, but death? And a death so contrite, a death of sacrifice? It almost seems too good, for someone — _something_ like him, to die in such a sacred way. To die for a _good_ cause.

Giving his life to the moon, becoming martyred.

"There must be another way," the Avatar says, and Shouto thought he couldn't sound more desperate. "There _has to be."_

But the Avatar does not understand. For something like Shouto, it seems unfit. Shouto does not deserve a death so kind. Shouto does not deserve to _save lives._

For someone like Shouto, this kind of death is a privilege.

Shouto thinks to himself: _are you a fucking idiot?_ And then he thinks, _I deserve this._ And then he thinks, _please. Let me have this. Let me finish this._

Before Shouto can give voice to his thoughts, though, someone calls his name: " _Shouto_!"

Shouto turns, and then his world holds its breath once more. Shouto wonders if he is dreaming.

(Her hair is moonlight, her voice, summer rain.)

The Avatar releases his hold, but Shouto does not notice. Behind him, the waterbender and the Avatar grovels to the ground. " _Princess_ ," the Waterbender says, but Shouto cannot hear it. To Shouto, at this moment, nothing matters. His world shuts down, and he only has eyes for his mother.

His mother, who is standing in the middle of the Spirit Oasis.

Shouto does not know when, but his knees gave. He has fallen to the ground, clawing at the ground. Distantly, he feels himself shaking. "I'm sorry," he hears himself whisper. He sounds like he was seven again, trembling before his mother. " _I'm so sorry_."

 _Will she ever return?_

 _I don't think so. She is banished, after what she did to the Prince. The Lord had her sent back to her tribe._

 _Poor boy._

His mother comes to him, slowly. Her hair looks like comet in the moonlight, shining red. She looks like she is dreaming — looking at Shouto like he isn't real, like he is a dream thing. She is close, now, and she looks older than he remembers. Paler. But she is real. She is very, very real.

"Shouto," she whispers back. " _Shouto_."

She reaches a hand to his face and Shouto flinches, hard, as if in pain, as if to hide half his face — half of his father, from her sight. _Unsightly,_ Shouto thinks to himself. _Unsightly. You are unsightly._

" _I'm sorry_ ," Shouto chokes, and when he dares to look, his mother face is inches from his — she is kneeling to meet him. She is crying, tears in rivulets, gleaming red like blood.

"It's going to be okay, Shouto," she says, and she kisses him, on his left cheek. And then on his forehead. And then on his hair. Her tears are warm on Shouto's brows. "Everything is going to be okay."

She kisses him for the last time, right on his scar. And then she smiles, and it is wonderful. She whispers, and she sounds as if she is saying the truest thing in the world. "You are so, so beautiful," she tells him, mouth pressing to his forehead. "My son. My Shouto. _I love you_."

Shouto wants to speak, he wants to hug her, kiss her, apologize, cry — he wants to say everything he never dared to give voice to, all the regrets, all the anger, all the love and all the forgiveness. He wants to tell her, _I love you too, always_. _Even after you left. Even after all these years. Even after everything._

But Shouto's tongue is lead in his mouth, and his arms limp in his mother's embrace. His lungs never felt so full.

And then she lets him go. She stands, and Shouto watches as she steps into the pond, and then the pond becomes a pool of moonburst. She shines. Blinding white. Shouto wonders why everyone he loves blind him so.

The light dissipates. Shouto retrieves his mother's body. His mother's hair, black as night against her pale, pale skin. Underneath her, the moon spirit glimmers to life. In the sky, the moon returns, silver and lovely.

Shouto brushes his fingers across her cheek. She is real, _she is real_. Her face is serene. She is warm still, but she is not breathing. She is dead. The moon spirit laps at Shouto's feet, forgiving.

Shouto buries his face into his mother's hair and screams.

* * *

The Fire Nation retreats. Endeavor is a volatile, cackling fury made man. The ship seems to cower underneath him, as it drifts away from the Northern Tribe. The soldiers are silent with fear.

" _Shouto_ ," Endeavor roars. "You will be punished."

Shouto has been a coward his whole life, but not now. _Not now._

"I do not obey you," Shouto says. "I do not take orders from you."

Shouto is afraid. But Shouto is _always_ afraid. The fear has never seemed to leave him. It's constant, permanent, burnt to his skin like a scar. But not now.

"What did you say?"

"I do not obey you," Shouto repeats, and he is trembling. He wills himself to look at Endeavor in the eye, for once in his life, and Shouto sees _nothing_. Nothing but fire, nothing but bottomless greed. There is no father in those eyes. Only a smoldering violence.

Shouto says it again. "I do not take orders from you."

Endeavor stands, and his body is a pillar of flames. Sweltering starlight. Around him, the ship catches fire. "You seem to forget, Shouto. I have been too soft on you," Endeavor says, and his voice reverberates with power. Like a god, it's cold, empty. "I have been far too lenient. You disrespect my _kindness_."

There is it again, that nasty part in Shouto. The one waiting for the hit, for the burn. The one singing the whistling kettle. The one begging to just _give in_. _Take the pain. Do not speak. Do not fight back. This is how you survive._

 _This is your home._

 _This is all you've ever known._

"Remember that _I_ _made you_. You are _my_ _son._ "

 _I love you_ , his mother said. _My son. My Shouto_.

 _I love you,_ his father said. _I do this because I love you._

And Shouto remembers. Barely, but he remembers.

This — this is not love.

"I am not your son," Shouto says. "I am not _you_."

Endeavor laughs. It's cruel, it's furious. It's void of anything. Endeavor tells him, "I will burn you to _nothing."_

Endeavor is blinding, now, flames licking his skin, wrapping around him like a suit, he is a star fire. He will burn Shouto to nothing, Shouto believes it, but at least — at least —

"I am not yours," Shouto says. His voice is true, loud, and clear. Brave, in its cowardiness. Shouto looks at death in the eye. "Not anymore."

Endeavor's eyes are pure fury, as he _burns_.

Shouto's vision is alight, and then —

Seawater floods the ship in a miniscule tsunami, washing everything away. The iron of the ship's floors cracks and towers to the sky, a barrier between Endeavor and Shouto. A flying bison growls in the sky, and Shouto is suddenly looking at the Avatar.

The Avatar looks back. He is holding out his hand.

"Take my hand," he tells Shouto. There is that look again — that brave, blinding look. That devastating determination. For the first time in Shouto's life, something outshines his father.

Shouto takes his hand.

And once more, he is flying.

* * *

"This is a shit fucking _idea_ , Deku!"

"Shh — he can _hear_ you!"

"Katsuki, you are being quite crude at the moment —"

" _Dude_ —"

"Kacchan, please — "

"I don't _fucking care_ if he hears me!"

"Katsuki, he just lost his," the waterbender's voice lowers into a sad whisper. "He's just lost his _mother_."

The boy with blond hair scowls. "It's his fault, anyway," he says, and receives five glares from his companions. "Tch. _Whatever_."

Somehow, Shouto has thought that riding on a flying bison would be much faster. But it's a slow, lazy shift through the clouds. And it's much more crowded. The Avatar's little band has grown considerably.

The Avatar and the girls glance at him in a scared, apologetic kind of way, as if expecting Shouto to start a fire at any moment. But Shouto stays dormant. He does not — does not _care_. It's not like the blond boy is wrong. It's not like words can hurt him more than the truth.

The blond boy does not say anything else, and the bickering gradually stops, reverting into an awkward silence.

Shouto does not mind. He does not want to speak. He isn't sure if he wants to do anything at all.

"U-um, do you want some water?"

The Avatar. Shouto barely gives him a glance. He shakes his head.

"Oh. Okay. Well, if you change your mind, uh — it's. You can ask. I mean," the Avatar clears his throat nervously. "Prince Shouto."

 _You are my son._

"Don't call me that," Shouto says, immediately. He holds the Avatar's gaze for a second before looking away. "I'm not — I'm not a prince. Not anymore."

Not anymore. Shouto is now a traitor to his father's nation, Shouto realizess with faint wonder. For the first time in his life, he is not the crown prince. He is not his father's weapon. He is not … whatever he was before.

He is just _Shouto_.

The Avatar's voice softens. Less nervous. He says, "Okay, Shouto."

"Your name," Shouto mutters.

"What?"

"Your name," Shouto repeats, louder this time. He turns to look at him. "You told me you had a name."

The Avatar smiles. "Izuku," he says. "My name is Izuku. Nice to meet you, Shouto."

Izuku. _Izuku._

The sky surrounds him, and Shouto closes his eyes.

* * *

Shouto dreams of spring. He dreams of the sun. And Shouto dares to wish, for the first time in forever. He dares to hope.

He dreams of golden green leaves, and he wishes he does not wake.


End file.
